


sunflower yellow

by merridiem



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien-centric, Afterlife, Angst, Character Death, Closure, Crying, Death, Depression, F/M, First Love, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hawk Moth is Gabriel Agreste, Heavy Angst, Identity Reveal, Loss, Loss of Control, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Powers, Love, Moving On, Near Future, Pain, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Hawk Moth Defeat, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reflection, as much as i love rena rouge i'm not including her in this sorry, but that's all in the past, inspired by the lovely bones, marinette dies while defeating hawkmoth, maybe there'll be fluff, my writing style is all over the place sorry, told from her pov in the afterlife, why do i only write angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-02-16 18:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13059861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merridiem/pseuds/merridiem
Summary: When Chat finally discovered my identity, it wasn’t the reveal he’d dreamed of for years. There were no words of yearning, no uttered confessions of love, no celebrations. There was blood, however; a sea of it. Blood that mixed with the red of my suit and smelled like the foreign coins I collected as a child. Blood on my lips as I felt my transformation fade away, taking with it my remaining strength. A strangled cry as I fell to the floor. Screams from Chat as he realized his Ladybug-- his indestructible Ladybug-- could die.--The heroine of Paris falls. Her loved ones try to stay steady.





	1. prologue: mon dernier souffle

**_prologue: mon dernier souffle_ **

When Chat discovered my identity, it wasn’t the reveal he’d dreamed of for years. There were no words of yearning, no uttered confessions of love, no celebrations. There was no chance to get to know each other, little by little, as civilians. No awkward introductions, no video game tournaments, and no candlelit dinners.

There was blood, however. Blood that mixed with the red of my suit and smelled like the foreign coins I collected as a child. Blood on my lips as I felt my transformation fade away, taking with it my remaining strength. A strangled cry as I fell to the floor. Screams from Chat as he realized his Ladybug-- his indestructible Ladybug-- could die.

I saw Adrien for the last time, then. I recalled a documentary I’d watched years before, about what happens during death. _I'm hallucinating,_ I thought briefly. Green eyes, freckled nose, blonde hair matted with sweat, creamy white skin tainted by my blood, words I couldn't understand. 

“Marinette, we did it. We defeated him. You’ll be okay. Marinette, transform again. Please. You can fix this, you can fix this. Please. Please. Please.”

I coughed and made a weak attempt to wipe the fresh blood from my lips. Adrien did it for me. I wanted him to stop touching me, to leave me to suffer alone.

“Leave,” I was dazed and trembling. I added, “I want my mom. Get my mom.”

“She’s here, Marinette,” his voice sounded distant. “She’s right here.” At his words, I smiled faintly. I laid back against the hard floor of Hawkmoth’s lair and let my head roll to the side. My blood was pretty, I thought. Red was always one of my favorite colors.


	2. de mon paradis

**_de mon paradis_**

In my heaven, I live in a warm yet sophisticated house that always smells like pastries. I have a picket fence and a tree with a swing. The weather isn’t quite hot or cold, and it’s certainly never humid. I have a room full of fabric in unfathomable colors- colors that I was blind to when I was still alive. I made my dwelling solitary, away from the bustling of the city that I both lived and died for. I thought I’d save Paris for the living. 

There’s a garden in the backyard behind the garage (which I’ve turned into a studio) that produces marvelous flowers: pale pink roses, brilliantly yellow peonies, and sunflowers, tall and erect, reaching toward the cloudless sky. My favorite flowers in the garden are those tucked in the back; a patch of red papaver rhoeas spotted with black sit next to unnaturally green chrysanthemums. When I get lonely I whisper to the chrysanthemums. Usually it’s “good morning,” or “sorry for leaving so soon,” but sometimes it’s “I love you” or “I’d give anything to see you again.” I lay gentle kisses across their petals, hoping in vain that they’ll reach him. 

-

When I was a child, I had a recurring nightmare: I was trapped behind a thick sheet of glass, separated from my family. I’d scream and kick and pound on the glass until my knuckles bled, but my mother and father were still out of reach. I was present, aware, but invisible. Sometimes they walked past the glass- so close that I could almost smell the lavender of my mother’s perfume, almost taste the batter on my father’s apron- but they could never see me.

When I cried on Earth, the would shake me awake, hold me close, and kiss me reassuringly.

When I cried in heaven I found solace in my perfect garden, in the all-too-familiar corners of my house, and in watching them. From behind a glass wall, I could observe life moving on, slowly but surely, without me.


End file.
